


Midnight Streets

by kkeithkatt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Modern AU, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, identity crisis, platonic kallura - Freeform, trans keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 00:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16482704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkeithkatt/pseuds/kkeithkatt
Summary: Faced with the cold realization that he has no idea who he is or what he wants, Keith sets out on a trip that ends with him staying halfway across the country, with no friends, and more questions than he left with. But there he meets a girl that asks the same things and a man that teaches him how to be and live again.It's there he realizes he doesn't want to just keep going forward. He wants to go up too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Song: Ribs by Lorde

**I**

He wasn’t sure what made him do it.

Well, that was a lie. Keith knew exactly how he got here, _why_ he was here, doing this. Sort of.

If he’s being honest with anyone, at least himself, it’s been coming for months. Every part of him had been screaming to leave, to drop everything and _go go go_.

Well he’s going and he’s breathless. He can hardly catch his breath from how fast and hard he’s running. The steering wheel is firm and warm beneath his hands and he reflexively squeezes it, perhaps a bit harder than is necessary, just to make sure it’s all real.

He’s on the interstate, highway signs passing by him, seen only in his rearview mirror. For the first time in his life, he’s the one leaving. He’s the one going, saying goodbye.

The guilt he expected to come isn’t as high as he thought it would be. He’s not sure how to feel about that.

_ This dream isn't feeling sweet _

_ We're reeling through the midnight streets _

_ And I've never felt more alone _

_ It feels so scary, getting old _

It’s nighttime and he’s got a single duffle bag slung in his backseat. Some old pop song plays on the radio and he takes lazy, slow sips from his nearly empty coke bottle. He’s nodding along to the song, shoulders and head moving to the sides and he doesn’t know the lyrics, isn’t even really hearing the song, but he’s never felt so alive before.

He quit his job this morning. He had put his two week’s notice in before so he’s not sure it really counts but he goes with it anyway. He has his transfer papers shoved in the glove compartment, still warm from the printer. The feeling of having everything at his fingertips is overwhelming but the fear is there too, present always.

His cell phone sits in the drink holder, silent and turned off. He’s mostly sure that if he were to turn it on, he’d have a dozen messages from Hunk and Romelle and maybe his mom. He bets there’s a dozen from Lance, at the very least.

He doesn’t check.

He doesn’t want to know how they might be feeling. He imagines Romelle is pissed, furious at him for running off and abandoning everything, leaving her. His mom, he thinks, would understand, as it’s always been apparent that they were cut from the same cloth, where as Hunk is probably more worried than anything else. He knows the man frets over him, had done so since middle school, and the younger, softer part of Keith feels bad for that, knowing how much a burden he is for the man. But mostly he just feels relieved. He’s finally doing this and it’s so hard for him to regret it.

He hadn’t completely gone off the rails with no warning though. Even he wasn’t cold enough to go without a word.

He had left a note, something for Hunk to see when he came home to realize Keith wasn’t on his couch anymore. He hopes he isn’t too pissed. Keith had left several months of rent behind, enough to cover his share of the remaining parts of their lease at least.

Not that that’s what the man’s going to be thinking about when he sees his couch empty and the lights off. This isn’t the first time he’s run away in his life, he had done so before, before Romelle came, before his mom got the new job, before Lance came around, but this is the first time since the accident and he knows what his best friend will be thinking.  
Hunk’s always worried over him, had always been by his side, guiding him and helping him and supporting him, that it feels almost like a crime to betray him like this. To look at all of that and still want for more. But Keith has always known himself to be selfish and that’s not going to change now.

He eyes the gas gauze for a second and notes to stop soon. He’s going to need to fill up. And get another coke.

It’s not running away, he tells himself. He knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t a sudden decision though. He had known for months that he was going to leave. Maybe he hadn’t known the technicalities of it, the specifics of when and where and how, but he had known the second it had settled within him. There was no ignoring the wanderlust, the need to know and understand just what it was he was looking for. He couldn’t explain it, but he had welcomed it all the way up to bolting upright earlier tonight, drenched in sweat and nerves. The achy itch, that pang of not belonging here had been too strong to ignore and he answered it’s siren call with a rush of his feet and the shake of his hands.

The feeling has been clouding him for almost a year now. It had only grown when he dropped out of college, no longer passionate about his major, if he had ever really been to begin with. His skin felt just a size too small, his shoes a bit too new to be comfortable, and when he had left school, he had known then too. He had known he had to go.

But he had returned home anyway. Slinking back to his mother’s gentle, waiting arms, with his head high but spine tight, the sense of failure hanging off of him like a heavy promise. She didn’t judge him, he knew. She understood more than most even, but he felt her disappointment nonetheless and he couldn’t sway the notion that she was embarrassed of him no matter what. He had always been her pride and joy, had always been what she fervently chatted about to her friends. He had always been good, had always proven that he wasn’t the dumb kid everyone had thought he was. It felt so much like he was finally proving them all right. Keith Kogane wasn’t smart after all. He wasn’t a good kid and he wasn’t worth a damn, just like everyone said.

His mother was happy to have him home and despite his dark thoughts, he was happy to be back too. Kosmo was eager to toy with him, pulling at his pant legs and dragging his tongue relentlessly across his face and Keith made sure to go on runs with the dog as often as possible, just as pleased to see him again. Romelle was visibly pleased to have him back too, he could see it in the smug set of her eyes, as if she were daring anyone to doubt that his presence was a gift, that his return was anything short of a miracle and happy celebration. Being home, at least for awhile, warmed his weary self and he felt at peace for the first time in a long time. He didn’t have any answers yet but at least he had them.

But he hadn’t wanted to burden his mother for long, even though he knew she didn’t view him like that at all. After weeks of job hunting, he had taken the first job he could, a minimum wage position at a store. It cemented his placement back home, then, it seemed, dug roots into his past that everyone else had thought he had severed. He ignored his friends questions of when he was going to go back, what he was going to do.

He didn’t know, is what he couldn’t tell them. No one wanted to hear that answer though.

Armed with a steady, albeit low, income, he had taken up refuge on his best friends, Hunk and Lance’s couch. They at least would begrudgingly accept his payments of rent, even though Keith knew Hunk was just storing the money away in a jar in his bedroom.

And his life had been okay. Nothing spectacular sure but it was fine. He had a job and a place to sleep and he got to eat every night, which was more than he could used to say, but it felt so hollow. He felt bad because he had so much, he had everything he needed. He had his family and his friends and he was okay.

He was okay.

He _is_ okay.

Except he isn’t.

Because every day felt like a chore. He dragged himself to work, half heartedly eating a bowl of slightly stale frosted flakes on his way out, and he worked the same eight and a half hour shift and then he went home, where he read and talked to Lance and sometimes called his mom.

And then he would go to bed and do it all again the next day.

It’s not a terrible life, he knows. Many people have the same routine and many people do very little with their actual lives. There was no reason he should be any different.

But he wanted to be. He looked in the mirror and he saw the same face, the same tired eyes and loose frown and he wanted more. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was searching for when he looked at his reflection every night but he knew that whatever it was wasn’t there.

Something was missing and with his fingers itching and eager to find, he went in search of it.

So, with no reason not to, he had picked a random spot on a map and told his boss he was moving and he needed to transfer his job there. Which was an easy enough request. And then he had to figure out the rest of it because he had had about a month to get his shit together.

It was a lot like moving for college he supposed, except there wasn’t a clear path to follow. He knew what he was getting out of college, but moving across the country for no apparent reason? That was enough cause for concern, he was sure, and he dreaded having to tell his friends that he wasn’t exactly an easy drive away.

There were so many things he was going to see just on the way there that it was a bit underwhelming to think of the actual arrival itself. He wanted to stop and take pictures of all the ridiculous things he would encounter on the way there, wanted to make side trips to all the silly tourist traps just for the heck of it, but he had enough sense not to. He did, after all, only have so much money on his card.

He could explore when he reached the end, when he got to his new place. He had never even been to the state before, much less the town his finger had randomly somewhat landed on. He was sure it would have enough surprises and adventures in store for him.

But moving to a new place meant he needed more than just a job to support himself on. He also needed a place to live and he hadn’t been eager to sign a lease for any apartment, considering he had no idea how long he would actually be there, so he took to looking for a temporary place, full of temporary roommates. Craigslist seemed like a decent enough idea and he had lucked out in that he had found someone that didn’t scream fucking creep. A girl named Allura who was in school and wanted to have some extra cash was looking to split her rent at her two bedroom place and he had quickly jumped at the chance, seeing it as the perfect opportunity that it was.

He hadn’t had his own room in over two years so to say that his list of standards was low is putting it mildly. Allura hadn’t seemed too terrible from what little they had talked and her apartment was nice from the pictures and videos she sent him of a tour of the place. It hadn’t been a hard decision to agree to stay with her.

So he had a job and a place to live waiting for him and when he had woken up last night (which, judging by the clock, wasn’t even a couple of hours ago), his body hot and heavy and mind too active and wired, he hadn’t seen a reason to stay any longer. There was nothing there for him that could alleviate these thoughts, nothing there that had fit his missing gaps enough to sedate him. Nothing that soothed his anxiety. The voices in his head were yelling and when he had climbed in his car, they had rejoiced.

No one had known he was going to leave. He didn’t want them to know. It had felt weird, keeping it a secret, but a part of him had known they would try to convince him to stay, that they could help him stop feeling whatever it was that was keeping him up at night and making him ache during the day, and he hadn’t wanted that. He didn’t want them to talk him out of it. He had been doubting and questioning it himself for months, weeks, days that nothing they could say would convince him.

But he feared what they would say, what they would think, and he didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes when they realized how lost he was, how much of a mess his head had become. Because he had been desperately pulling at all his loose strings lately, trying to keep them and himself together long enough that no one would notice he was falling apart. He knew, in his heart, that this is where he was meant to be, that this was just something he had to do, and he didn’t need them to understand that but it didn’t stop him from wanting their approval and feeling their rejection instead.

So he had settled for a note instead, giving Hunk and Lance next to no explanation other than a “I’m safe, here’s the rent money, please don’t worry. I’ll call soon”.

Then he ran. Shoving clothes into a bag and anything else that seemed important enough for a sudden departure (like his phone charger and the book on the coffee table). His heart had beat so fast while he struggled to get them inside, his hands twitching as he held the keys in his hand like fragile glass, too scared that if he were to clutch them tight, he would break the illusion and wake up back in his bed, once more stuck behind.

He needs to do this, he tells himself again, voice coming out in a soft, broken whisper, as if he doubts it too, and he presses a little harder on the gas for it. Nothing is going to make him stop.

Except perhaps the gas tank as the gauge is ticking closer and closer to the large E and so he turns his blinker on to get over, not that anyone is around.

The gas station is easy enough to find and he turns his phone on while he waits for the tank to feel, the soft run of it making perfect background noise to fill his anxious waiting.

The screen flickers on and immediately the smiling face of him and his dog Kosmo lights up his screen but it’s soon overcrowded with gray boxes and the silence is filled with light dings.

He had several missed calls, most from Lance but a few from Romelle. He swiped his thumb across the screen and read through Hunk’s texts firsts.

_Keith?_

_Are you okay? Where are you?_ _  
_ _Please call me._

_Come home._

Swallowing, he moved to Lance’s.

_Dude where tf r u_

_Keith man this isn’t funny_

_Ur being a dick_

_wtf is wrong w/ u_

_Idk what’s wrong okay but pls just call_

_Im worried about u man_

_Call when u can. Hunk is a mess._

_‘Melle called._

Anger radiated from every word and he fisted his hand tight, nails digging deep into his palm as he knew he deserved. Lance and he had always gotten along like fire, burning fast and hot and not at all always good. Destructive, some had called them, but Keith had always felt warm in fire, had always sought it, and he was grateful for the perhaps harsh response.

He went through Romelle’s texts next.

_Keith Lance said u left pls answer the phone_

_Ur scaring me_

_Don’t do this._

_Y r u gone_

Closing his eyes, he swallowed again, this one a bit harder to get down and he sniffed, rubbing at his nose once. He darted a look to the gas pump. It was still climbing.

He had one lone text from his mom.

_Stay safe. I love you, Keith._

That was it. His mom didn’t ask for an explanation, wasn’t telling him to come back, and he felt a surge of warmth for her. She always knew what he needed, usually before he himself did. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had seen this coming long before he had decided to go. She was just like that.

He wonders what she would say to him now if she were here. Nothing, he imagines. She’d probably just take his quivering hand in hers and kiss his forehead, a gesture used more often than he would like. He thinks she’s seen him broken more than enough times and, for once, he’s grateful she’s not here with him now to witness his utter destruction.

He hesitates over the text box, going back and forth between them all before he sighs and just turns his phone off again. He doesn’t have any words for them yet and as selfish as it was, he doesn’t feel like he owes them anything either. He will call them soon. Just not now.

The gas pump makes a heavy click as it finishes and he lazily puts it back up before locking his car (he was at a roadside gas station nowhere near his home don’t judge him) and heading inside, the sound of the bell dinging as he opens the door, the noise echoing loudly in the empty space.

Keith believes all gas stations have the annoying habit of just being too bright. With wide fluorescent bulbs lighting up the whole place and white tiled floors keeping it even more bright, he resists the urge to flinch from the sudden onslaught. It’s painted bold, with bright red signs and neon yellow words popping out everywhere. The only bit of darkness he can see are the wired shelves full of stale chips and even then it’s not enough to balance out the attack on his eyes. He can feel them pinching together as he squints, head already aching with the stress.

The drinks are always in the back so he heads there first and grabs a bottle of coke. He reaches for another when he reads the 2 for $3 sign. He is going to need it eventually anyway so why not? He grabs a water bottle too, feeling the spirit of Hunk judging him over his shoulder. He can practically hear the man telling him to at least take care of himself.

He hopes spirit Hunk is appeased.

That is probably tossed out the window though when he moves to the snack aisles, ultimately settling on a poptart, a bag of chips, and some granola bars. It’s definitely more Lance’s style. At least he is going to be getting some fiber or whatever with the granola bars. He doesn't really know or care to look but the snacks look mostly like something Hunk would grab so he goes with it.

The cashier doesn’t say a single word to him as he pays and he doesn’t really mind, especially when he checks his watch and reads that it is a little past 3am. If he were on duty he wouldn’t be trying to talk either. Though he tries to avoid socializing during his regular hours anyway.

An exchange of several loose one dollar bills later finds him back in his car, radio on low, already dipping half the bottle of coke down his throat, his hand struggling to open the bag of chips one handed. It feels good, he thinks, to just have a cool drink. He’s not worried about the calories and no one’s here to tell him “you should eat a proper meal for once, Keith” and it’s such a small thing to be happy about but right now he’ll take what he can.

The radio catches onto the idea that people are actually listening for music as an ad is overrun by another pop song. He’s pretty sure he’s got it tuned onto some regular hit station instead of the classic rock one he usually listens to and while he has an assortment of CD’s in his glove box, he doesn’t care enough to fetch one out. He’s trying new things anyway. Might as well have a trashy playlist to accompany his trashy decisions.

The highway is still mostly empty when he gets back on it, the only other cars he really sees being semi’s and people clearly heading home from work. He’s thankful, once again, that he is neither from or heading towards anywhere remotely popular. He’d rather not deal with an influx of happy families on vacation. They tend to forget the rules of the road.

His phone is cold in his pocket, away from his eyes so he can’t physically see his own guilt looking back at him but it’s pressed against his thigh so he’s not sure the move is that successful. He knows it’s off and that they’re just worried about him but he still feels the little bit of guilt for leaving.

_You’re doing this for you,_ he reminds himself and it’s not as comforting as he intends it to be but it’s enough to push the thoughts aside. They’ll understand. He hopes. They’ll understand that he just has to do this.

He hopes they know he’s going to come back, that he’s not leaving forever.

He hopes that statement is true because right now, as his miles tick up and the streetlights pass in a blur, he’s not so sure himself.

But that was always the problem wasn’t it? Keith was never sure anymore, especially about himself.

That’s why he’s here, in his shitty car, alone, heading to a life that he has no idea of.

The shitty pop songs continue and he turns up the volume before rolling his window down, letting the wind come in and blow his bangs around.

God he really needs a cigarette.

  


There’s something about driving on a lonely road with nothing but soft country music playing that warms Keith’s bones. He’s moved off the interstate for now and had changed the radio station accordingly, so it’s to the sweet sound of Josh Turner’s voice that has him going around curves and idly looking out his window at the very many fields of grass he passes.

He hasn’t driven through these states in awhile, not since he was young and before his mother had decided it was time for a fresh start and they had moved away. If he thinks about it hard enough, he can still feel the heat of an angry flame against his cheeks.

He doesn’t want to though.

It’s funny, he thinks, that when he runs away, this is where it takes him. Everyone always ends back where they start somehow. For him, it’s literal and he knows if he were to park the car now, that he’d be able to feel soft dirt beneath his feet in those fields and that the scent of dew and syrup would be everywhere, clinging to the air.

He never thought he’d come back here, not after everything that happened, and yet, here he is. No he’s not exactly back home nor is he actually stopping here permanently, but being here now, if only just for a moment, brings back a lot of memories. He feels the need to play old Beatles songs, just like his pa did, to sing along with Paul right through the chorus of Hey Jude. But he doesn’t have any copies of their albums so it’s a far away dream, one loitering on the edge of his mind, teasing his thoughts and testing his tongue but never meeting the light of day.

There is one thing he can do though that reminds him of his dad and it’s with that that he flips the cigarette pack open again, smoothly fishing one out to light quickly between his lips. He slowly rolls the window down a bit as his lungs fill with smoke, bringing with it the smell of fresh rain and humidity.

His pa never smoked, detested the mere thought of it actually, but the man always smelt like them. Ash and smoke clung to his skin like a heavy dirty layer of shame and pain. Few of his buddies smoked, but Keith knew where it all came from. He finds it ironic his father would go out the way he did, believing what he did.

He finds it even more so that his son fills his lungs the same way his father’s did when he died: full of smoke and coughs and the slight pinch of fire when he gets too close to the flame. Both of them are blackened and reduced to nothing but char and ash. Maybe he’s doing reparations, paying for his sins.

Lord knows he deserves it. No matter what his mom says.

A female singers voice fills the car as the wind pinches his eyes and the dark road eats itself away. He doesn’t know her name but he remembers the lyrics and sings along with them, his voice soft and low. No one’s around to hear, but he feels self conscious anyway. He’s never been a particularly good singer. Solitude doesn’t change that.

He pats his fingertips against the steering wheel, wanting to dance but refraining (mostly) from doing so. If there’s anything he is worse at than singing, it’s dancing. And unlike before, he’s not high off the fumes of running away.

No, instead he feels the doubt and fear and worry creeping in. His skin itches a little, feeling too small and too big at the same time and he just wants to crawl in his bed and stay there for awhile. But he doesn’t have a bed and he’s too far gone to turn back now.

Keith Kogane has never been a coward. He’s not going to start being one now.

The decision to go had first come to him months ago, when he was slightly drunk off of fruity liquors and his head was full of ghosts. He had just had an argument with Romelle, he can’t even remember what about, but for a moment, he had felt so small. So young. He felt a lot like he did in high school and he hated it.

He was only twenty one, had several years behind him but so many more ahead. But already he feels like he’s fucked it all up, smudging all the clean lines he used to have to make them hazy little paths and words that no one could read or follow. He’s used to failure now, used to falling down and not being able to get up for a minute. He had thought that when he went to college everything would get better. That’s what everyone says, isn’t it? But he had never been more alone.

College had been a bust for him. Before, when he was still eager and full of hope, he had been your straight A kid that people always wanted their own to be like. No, he wasn’t valedictorian but he was up there and that was more than enough. His mother had been proud of him. Hunk and Romelle and Lance had been proud of him. That was all he had needed.

But then, armed with a scholarship and several books, he had gone off to college with the promise of a better life. He could finally be himself, could finally stretch his wings and learn what he always wanted to. He could do anything now, be anything. Going to a school about two hours away didn’t feel that difficult. He was close enough to his family to visit but far enough to have that illusion of freedom. Regris had been with them and Hunk and Lance were still in school at the time but he had thought he could do it.

He had thought he had it all figured out. Keith knew what he was good at and so it hadn’t been hard to decide on a major and start attending the right science classes. Even if he ended up not liking it, he could always change it. And the first year had been fine, he had breezed through it with good grades (though a few more B’s than he was used to but overall was okay with) and he had made some friends. He had branched out more, going far enough to join a club and go on several trips. He had thought he was doing better.

But the second year came and suddenly it all went to shit. He had been lax about his education suddenly. Because even though he knew he was good at what he was doing, he didn’t particularly enjoy it. There was no real challenge, no real spark with what he was hearing and learning. He hadn’t realized how much that meant to him until it wasn’t there. So he stopped showing up, stopped caring when his teachers messed up his grades and he just didn’t bother to correct them. What was the point if he already hated it? Might as well have an excuse for his lack of care when asked. An F was an easy explanation. A “this just isn’t me anymore” wasn’t. Because before? Before he had wanted nothing more than to pursue this, than to push it as far as he could. But along the way it became a mere word, just something he said to everyone that asked.

He didn’t know when exactly he stopped believing in it, but he had, and now? He didn’t quite know who he was anymore.

Keith Kogane was good at science. He wanted to be an astronaut and a pilot. He wanted to go where no man had before, wanted to touch the stars. It had all made sense before. He knew who he was. Keith Kogane was daring and brave and he had all the answers.

Until he didn’t.

Because who was he without the stars? Without the “yeah I’m going to go up there!”? Who was he if he wasn’t the kid that wanted to go to space? Because yes he absolutely still wanted to go but his blood no longer pumped fast at the thought, his grin stretching too far for his face. He no longer cared and he had never done something before without caring; he didn’t want to start now. That isn’t who he is and that was the one solid thought, one fact, he had about himself to keep him grounded. The only thing he had to guide him.

When he inevitably dropped out of school, his knuckles raw and eyes cold, he decided dreams weren’t meant to be. Because what kind of universe took his dream from him and made it as appealing as a rolled up slice of moldy bread under someone’s couch? Dreams weren’t meant for him, he realized, and so he went home, a little colder than he left it, and he got a job and that was that.

He paid his bills and he ate his vegetables (sometimes) and he called his mom and that was that. He was stable, he had a home, what more could he ask for?  
A lot, it turns out.

He had thought he could keep going, that all he really needed was the bare minimum to get by and it was true. He was content living through his days and nights, wading through them like one would muddy water. But Keith didn’t want to be content. He wanted to be happy. It was that thought that lead him to where he is now.

What does it mean to be happy? What is it, exactly, that he wants? Is it just a job that he cares about? Because if that’s it, then what is it that he not only actually enjoys but is decent at (enough to warrant several years of study at)?  
He thought a lot about it. About who he was and what he wanted and where he wanted to be in the future and he came up empty.

Keith Kogane was good at science. But he didn’t want to go to space anymore.

Keith Kogane was brave. But he didn’t want to be anyone’s hero.

Keith Kogane was a lot of things but he didn’t quite feel like Keith Kogane anymore.

He thinks everyone deserves a blank slate in their life and it was time for his.

So, a little tipsy and head spinning with weird thoughts, he had bought a giant map of the world at a teacher supply store and he had pinned it against a bulletin board in his mom’s garage and he had thrown some darts at it. Half of them bounced right off it (or the wall because yeah he was a little drunk and things didn’t always go the way one wanted them to) and fell to the ground. Some hit places in the world that he, quite frankly, could not afford to go to. And two had hit places in the US.

One landed somewhere near Arizona and he had strongly considered that one first. It was familiar territory, somewhere close to where he knew and had actually lived. He could go back to the desert, with it’s little shack and long sunny days. He knew Arizona.

It was the precise reason he didn’t go there.

He had known Arizona just as well as he had known Keith Kogane and now he didn’t know him all that well so why start out on the wrong foot? He wanted a fresh start, wanted to start right at the beginning, and he figured that if he was going to do this right, then he needed to go somewhere entirely new. Which lead him north. That wasn’t where the other dart landed but he didn’t fancy going to Montana so wildly thrusting his hand out, his fingers had run into several places around New Hampshire and so he headed there, looking for small towns in the north. Small enough to disappear. That’s what he needed.

He was taking the long way, driving through the south instead of the central states but he didn’t mind. He had the money for gas and he was feeling sentimental, wanting to visit his roots on his way out. Besides, road trips were practically requirements for an identity crisis. Before you knew it his face was going to be seen on some shitty movie playing on the family channel. Maybe Lifetime would feel inspired.

He can feel Luke Bryan judging him through the radio as the man sings about fishing or something and it’s with a bit of regret that he turns the volume down a little. The man’s right. Be positive and all that jazz.

Looking at the clock, he figures he’s been on the road for about thirteen hours, leaving roughly twenty three to go. And that’s if he didn’t take any stops. Which isn’t going to happen because not only are his ribs absolutely tearing him apart but his lack of sleep is starting to catch up to him. He had left late last night (early this morning?) on very little sleep, considering he had just gotten off of work himself, and while it probably wasn’t wise to drive as long as he had, he excuses it away with having done worse.

But he isn’t crazy enough to shoot for more and as his GPS leads him back onto the interstate, he makes a point to start looking at the lodging signs near each exit, keeping an eye out for any motel that doesn’t scream murder and cockroaches. He’s seen enough of them throughout his childhood to know their overtly ill placed fancy script from the rest.

But none really pop up for him for miles and before he knows it, the traffic is thickening and the radio stationed has switched itself out for a newer counties and he doesn’t quite know where he is but the GPS does so he’s not too worried. It’s on classic rock now, thank god, so at least he knows that part of what’s going on and he idly mouths the words of Paradise City as he flips his blinker over into the fast lane.

He wonders if all road trips are like this, full of exhaustion and a shortage of caffeine. He should have at least stopped for snacks again by now and he regrets that lack of foresight more and more as he wets his chapped lips, nails digging into the steering wheel.

He wonders what his mom is doing right now.

Axl Rose’s voice carries him over for another few miles until he realizes it’s been over an hour since he’s started looking for an exit. He’s sure he’s going to fall asleep right where he is now and he makes the executive decision to say fuck it and he gets off at the very next exit which, fortunately for him, was only in about three miles. The soft strokes of a guitar carries him off the ramp and into the slow trickle of oncoming traffic.

Spotting a McDonald’s, he thanks the heavens that fast food restaurants are smart enough to always place themselves nearby these things. He doesn’t know what he would do without the greasy fries and oddly warmed chicken nuggets. Probably live longer if Lance and TV doctors are to be believed. But pulling into a parking spot, he can’t quite bring himself to mourn those extra years as he thinks about the cheap food he’s about to shove his face in.

He pulls out his phone and turns it on, ignoring the dings and pings of notifications sweeping in. A quick google search reveals that the nearest hotel is only a couple blocks over and he quickly books a room before getting out of the car.

Subtly sniffing himself, he winces a little. It’s not the worst he’s ever smelt and he’s sure no one’s going to notice but he mentally plans a shower in his near future.

As he waits in line to order, he pulls up Allura’s name and shoots her a quick text before pocketing it.

_Hey I’m omw to you. Should be there by tmrw. Hope that’s okay_

It’s breakfast time so he mourns his lack of fries but he makes do with hotcakes and several hash browns. Hunk isn’t here to judge and bully him into a yogurt parfait and he doesn’t do the job for him this time. He does, however, order a tall cup of french vanilla. It’s not hot chocolate but the taste will do.

As he idly stirs his coffee, his tray before him, he eyes the empty bench in front of him and loneliness strikes him. His first few months of college had been a lot like this, every meal being taken alone at a table full of spare plastic chairs. He had wondered a lot back then what life would have been like if he had stayed in his own town, where he could be with Hunk or Romelle.

But he hadn’t regretted that decision, despite it’s fall out, and he’s grateful for the experience just as he is now. Sure, the roadtrip he’s on would probably be a bit more eventful if he had brought, say, Lance along, and he definitely misses having someone to tease and banter with with him, but he likes the solitude too.

He chose to do this, he reminds himself. Alone.

All roads travelled must be done alone, especially seeking what he is. This is for him. No one else.

His phone beeps loudly and he almost drops his fork with how hard he flinches. Cursing his failure to mute the sound, he pulls it out and spots Allura’s name instead of any of the regulars. Quickly swiping his thumb across, he reads her reply.

_Sounds grt! I’m off tmrw so txt me when u get here!_

Thanking his fortune (for once), he sends off a quick okay and moves back to finish up his food. He needs to be on the road again soon so it’s best if he gets out of here as soon as possible, lest he waste Allura’s free time all day.

Soon he’s leaving the McDonalds and tossing his coffee away and $85 short later, he’s dragging himself through a hotel door, his feet stumbling into the baseboards and his bag smacking the door loudly.

The room is nice, not $85 nice but nice enough that he doesn’t fear anything eating him in his sleep and he quickly places his bag in the desk chair, ripping his shoes off next to toss in the corner. Keith then slowly lifts his arms to strip off his shirt but the ease is for not as pain licks up his sides. It’s a familiar pain though, as his binding habits aren’t the best, and so he pushes through it and then slides the binder itself off next.

Rubbing and massaging his chest a little to ease it, he opens his fly one handed, tugging at the belt loops to slide his pants down. He kicks them off of him, his side protesting a little at his quick fumbling, before hastily grabbing some clean clothes and his toiletry bag.

He hadn’t packed a lot, but he had packed his bathroom things and enough clean clothes to last him a bit, so he’s quick to turning the hot water on, willing it to warm up faster than it is. Tossing his things onto the countertop, he pulls a towel down from the rack and places it beside them, sitting himself down on the toilet lid to wait a minute.

He coughs a few times, spine straight, and takes several deep breaths as the water warms and he closes his eyes as he remembers the last time he had worn his binder for so long. Lance had been the one to make him take it off then, as he had been having a very dysphoric filled day that he hadn’t wanted to, and the man had had to help him out of the thing when it got stuck around his shoulders. He remembers the pain that had flared up all around his chest and side, how much worse it had felt, and he’s grateful he hadn’t done so again this time, that the hours hadn’t been nearly as high up. He’s not sure he could do that again, especially alone.

When he deems the water hot enough, he steps into the shower and just stands there for several minutes, letting it run down his body and wet his hair. His bangs fall even more over his eyes, sticking to his forehead and cheekbones pitifully and he pushes them back with a forceful sweep of his hand. Tipping his chin up, jets of water strike his face and he sputters for a second, spitting some back out as he swipes his tongue across his lips, chewing loosely on them for a moment.

He feels the hours of the day going down the drain and he takes a long sigh as he body relaxes, limbs loosening up as his skin pinkens and he wants to cry at how relieving it is.

Honestly, he kind of just wants to cry anyway though as it all catches up with him.

But he doesn’t give himself the time to think about it. The shower is no place for such thoughts and he wants this to be a good experience so he pours a bit of shampoo in his hand and takes a step back out of the waters path. Rubbing it into his roots, nails scratching against his scalp, he absentmindedly forces out a hum, mind going back to the pop song that had been playing when he first started this adventure.

The jets splash at his feet and he slides a shampoo slicked hand down his neck, running it over the crook connecting at his shoulder before sliding it down his chest again to rest there. He digs it into the skin there, pressing roughly but not too much so. Turning around and dipping his head back a little, he lets the shampoo wash out as he kneads his chest.

His throat tightens up and he pushes his hands back into his hair, fingers parting the strands there as he slides them through and down. He brings them back up to repeat the motion and his teeth clench, eyes closing as he hisses. A sob hitches in his throat that he forces down.

Pulling roughly on his hair, he releases it and rigidly pours some conditioner out, his arm moving at sharp, sudden angles that twitch oddly and forcefully. He glides the conditioner through the rest of his hair, squeezing it into all the empty spaces and guiding it along with the slide of his fingers before he moves further away from the water again to focus on the rest of his body again.

He rubs soap into his skin carefully but deeply, palms pushing into him with aggression, and he swipes his hand across his stomach quickly, silently watching as the water quickly washes it away and down his legs.

His fingers follow it and he steps a little more under the water as he runs his hands up and around his thighs, fingertips sliding smoothly against his knees and across his inner thighs. It’s a lazy and mindless action, one he relishes in, before he turns around again and lets the conditioner go. His hands reach up to help and he closes his eyes again as the water rolls down his back in fast trails.

His hair kisses his shoulder blades, eyes twitching behind his lids, and he squirts some more soap into his palm before running it over his legs, kneading it into his skin. Water runs over his shoulders and down his spine as he does so and he pushes his hair back some when it falls forward towards his face. It’s mostly for naught though for the soap seems to disappear as fast as it was put on.

There’s no reason for him to stay in the shower but he does, just standing under the spray, letting it pour over his skin and wrinkle his toes. He continues to hum the song as his eyes flutter open before he closes them again. He can take this moment. Just for a little longer.

Fingertips running up and down his thigh in slow traces, he moves them up to caress his hip bones before moving them higher to trace his collar. He draws over his bones for a second, thinking about what they must look like under all that skin and tissue and blood, before he leans forward to shut the water off.

Cold air is immediately biting at his skin with ferocious abandon as he steps out of the shower, the curtain scraping across the bar with a screech. He wraps the fluffy towel around his shoulders for a moment, relishing it’s warmth, before he quickly drags it across the rest of him, eager to get the water off of him now that it’s chilled and no longer keeping him hot. He pats his body down before tying the towel around his hair as he tugs his clothes on, which consists of just plain boxers and an overly large t-shirt.

He brushes his teeth, the towel sliding a little down his face as he does so before it completely just falls off when he goes to spit, and he exits the bathroom drying his hair off, towel moving roughly over it with wide drags of it. The floor is cold against his bare feet but it’s a short walk to the bed that he jumps onto with little care. He leaves the towel on the floor when it slips through his hands.

He gets under the covers quickly, relishing what little warmth there is there under the cold crisp duvet and sheets. His toes dig into the mattress, sliding against it as he pushes his legs out, straightening them so he can slide the rest of him under too. He’s soon shoved in all the way up to his neck and he makes quick work of wrapping the blanket around his head, having little care for the wet spots he leaves behind and under him. An arm thrusts out to snatch a pillow that he shoves under his head and pushing his face into it, he’s soon lost to the sleep he’s been pushing off for hours.

He dreams of nothing and everything and it’s with the last thought of where he’s going that eases him into them.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author is so done and officially hates chapter 2's more than anything.  
> Chapter Song: Sorry by Halsey

**II**

 

For one moment, he lets himself breathe.

Sunlight is streaming through the curtains he hadn’t closed, afternoon settling comfortably in the day as he opens his eyes to it, finally awake after hours of sleep. His body is warm, hot even, encased as he is in the cocoon of blankets he’s got wrapped tightly around himself, and it makes it all the harder to move. Cold air brushes against his exposed cheeks though and he resists the urge to duck his head under.

He feels like he’s underwater, heavy and numb and a bit disoriented. His gaze is fixed on the window panes but he’s not actually looking at it. Not really. It’s like he’s seeing but taking nothing in. Present, but only just. If anyone were to ask him, right now, what the color of the curtains were, he wouldn’t be able to say.

He gets like this sometimes, where he just shuts down and not a lot of things make sense or really register. A good portion of his high school years were spent like this, enough so that he finds it difficult to even remember pieces of them. He fists his hand in the blanket and while he can faintly feel the thick cotton in his fingers, he also feels the drowsy weight of them. It’s as if his hand has fallen asleep, only there’s no pins and needles. It’s just slow. Slow and lost. It feels like it takes minutes to make that fist. Maybe it had. He’s not too sure.

Slowly, as if he has to force himself to do it, he shifts his gaze to the bedside clock, where green little numbers tell him it’s four o’clock. He blinks, an odd thing right now, and they go away, replaced by the window again.

There’s not much for him to do when he’s like this, not that he feels particularly inclined to do anything at all of course. But his mind wanders, if just a few steps, and has him thinking about things, like the ever present weight of his decision that’s been sitting on his chest since the moment he left.

He’s so far away from home, he realizes. Nevada is hours and hours away, and he doesn’t even want to think about how many miles he’s covered in the last 24 hours. It’s kind of crazy, when he does think about it (because how can he not?), and he wants to laugh a bit hysterically at how irrational all of this is. He’s so stupid, so reckless to be out here. It’s perhaps one of the biggest and most spontaneous risks he’s ever taken. And that’s saying a lot for him.

He’s never been this far from home before. Not once.

But it was never really home was it? He’s lived there for a few years sure, but before that it had been one motel to the next, and before those it had been Arizona with his dad and the faded memory of their house. He misses it. He misses his dad.

Keith had never felt that strongly about living in Nevada. Sure, he was in a cool place, though he didn’t think Vegas was as cool as everyone made it out to be, but it had nothing on the past. It didn’t have his dad’s chocolate chip pancakes or the smell of too strong bleach he had gotten used to over the years. His mother’s car, with its four walls and black leather seats, felt more homely than the brick house they had moved into had ever been.

Maybe that’s why he moved away for college. He’d never tell his mother that though. Not after all she had done for him. For them.

It’s a bit insane to think about. That little brick house, as empty as it had always felt, despite being full of ghosts and past secrets, kept a burning ache in his chest, one he didn’t know if he wanted to quench it or fuel.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, cool air rushing in as if he had done something monumental, opening up as much space as he had. He holds it for a second, maybe too long, before releasing it through his barely parted lips, throat quivering as he does so. Like a hummingbird, with it’s chest puffing out fast and fat.

This is his life, he thinks. He eyes the wall of the hotel, fists the comforter once more, and takes another deep breath, bringing with it stale air that smells like bleach. This had always been his life.

Maybe he’s just made to be a runner. Maybe hotels and motels are where he belongs, fleeting and temporary as he is.

He feels like he’s always saying goodbye and yet somehow it’s never enough. The urge to move and go is too strong to ignore.

Perhaps this is his siren song. He suddenly understands those sailors a lot more. He too is a victim to temptation.

A quick flick of his eyes reads the clock again. Green numbers tell him 4:13.

He wonders what his mom is doing right now. Probably working. She’s always working.

Beside the clock rests his phone, plugged into the charger and the little battery glowing bright on the screen, ready for him to grab and turn on. He eyes it warily, chewing half heartedly on his lower lip, sucking it in between his teeth and digging indentions into the soft pout there.

Biting the bullet, his arm slips out from the covers, slowly, and reaches out to grab it, tugging it off the charger and sliding it back with him under the blanket. He presses the side button, holding it until the screen flickers and goes through some flashes he doesn’t pay much attention to. When the time is finally staring back at him he waits and sure enough, a little ding sounds out as he ducks the phone to his chest. He doesn’t want to watch the notifications slide in across it, doesn’t want to see yet.

But oddly it’s only the one ding that comes out, instead of the several angry ones he had been expecting. The sound rests mournfully and awkwardly in the silence of the room and he holds his breath waiting for more. He’s not sure if it’s with hope or dread that he does so but neither is fed when the silence remains empty.

He thinks about it again and pulls the phone back, barely making out it’s shape in the darkness of the covers. He presses the bottom button once and immediately sees what the fuss is about. It’s not Hunk or Romelle like he had thought it would be though.

Ezor’s name smirks up at him and it takes all his will to keep himself from throwing his phone across the room.

 

_ So I'm sorry to my unknown lover _

_ Sorry that I can't believe _

_ That anybody ever really _

_ Starts to fall in love with me _

There’s a song playing in his head, paired with the one playing on the radio. He’s always liked Halsey, a sort of guilty pleasure of his that no one seems to really expect him to have. He’s not sure what screams My Chemical Romance about him and while he loves Black Parade as much as the next guy, he _ does _ have a wide taste in music.

It’s bright out when he sets himself back on the road. It’s the first time he’s driven during the day since his impromptu escape and it makes it all the more real. Somehow, by doing this when everyone is out and about, awake and seeing him, makes him really believe that he’s doing this. He’s running away.

No. He reminds himself. No he’s not.

Cowards run away and there’s nothing cowardly about what he’s doing. Not right now.

It’s a little terrifying actually. He looks around at all the cars, the bright reds and heavy grays, eyes the bored faces of the drivers, the messy waves of the children in the back seats.

Okay. It’s a lot terrifying.

His hands are sweaty and his throat is tight as his heart beats a little fast against his chest. He’s really doing this. He has been the whole time of course but now that he’s around people, has witnesses to this journey of his, it’s so much more real.

He wonders if they can tell anything is different. Wonders if they know he’s done something so extraordinary, so new, so exhausting and exhilarating.

He’s alive damn it. For the first time in a long time Keith is awake and he wants to know if they can tell. If they can see it on his face, in his posture. Does he look any different today than he did the day before? Than he did last week?   
He feels different.

When he woke up yesterday, it had been as usual as every other day. He had done his sit ups, brushed his teeth, slipped on a binder, and made breakfast before changing and leaving the house for work. He had started it the exact same as he always did, with his straight black coffee and his fresh mint toothpaste, and he had expected today to be the exact same when he had gotten home to slide into bed.

Only it’s not the same and as soon as he had opened his eyes he had known that to be truth. For one, he hadn’t even been in his regular bed anymore. Gone were his days sprawled across Lance and Hunk’s couch, shoes under the coffee table and bangs in his eyes. He had woken up, face smooshed in fresh sheets and a poofy pillow. He wasn’t even in the same state that he was yesterday.

His life was irrevocably changed now.

Of course, he could just turn around right now, walk right into Hunk’s living room, and act as if nothing had happened. Sure he could do that but he knows he’d always be racked with what if’s and how come’s.

He already had enough questions to kill him. He didn’t need anymore.

The first thing he had done after brushing his teeth was throw the toothpaste away. He had always brushed his teeth with fresh minty flavor. Maybe he’d buy cinnamon toothpaste when he finally made it to Allura’s. He’s feeling adventurous. Everyone starts with small things and maybe he’s taken a bit of a plunge by moving halfway across the country first but he figures it’s okay to backtrack a little. He’ll click off all the little boxes he needs to fulfill the requirements needed of “I’m having a breakdown! Restart today!”

But he’s in the car now, back on the road with Halsey carrying him down the line. She’s a good companion, he feels, especially when one is having a bit of a crisis. She always manages to find the words when he can’t and he appreciates it. Maybe when he actually answers his friend’s texts and they ask him what’s going on, he’ll just send them one of her album’s. It’s a decent explanation, an accurate one even, and he finds it fitting enough to limit any further questions.

A problem for Future Keith, he decides.

He presses his foot against the gas pedal fleetingly, hesitantly, and then too strong, before releasing it altogether and just cruising down the highway, the speedometer slowly dragging itself back to the right.

That’s how he feels right now. So sure of what he’s doing, of where he’s going, only to retreat it back. His hands are itching to grab but every time he touches, every brush of his fingers against the possibility, he feels them retreat, quickly sliding back towards his chest.

He’s so tired though. Tired of running, of hiding, of pretending. He’s tired of lying. To who he’s not sure. His mom? His friends? Himself? Everyone really. All he knows is that he can’t keep doing this. There’s something exhausting about staying where he had been, about retreating to the shallow depths of what his life had become.

Keith had never envisioned himself to be something great. Perhaps he lacked ambition but he hadn’t never wanted anything more than his initial goals. He hadn’t wanted to be the first to find aliens and he hadn’t wanted to be the best scientist. All he had wanted to do was touch the stars. No special missions or fancy titles. Just the stars. Just the sky. Space had truly, beautifully, been his final frontier. His only one, if he could manage.

He was never hungry for more. Never ached to grab a fistfull of legacy and fame. He didn’t want to be anymore than he already was. But he found himself aching now.

He supposes though that if you became nobody, you’d be starving for more anyway.

Sometimes the reality of who you are isn’t up to any expectations, least of all your own.

Perhaps he should be disappointed. And in a way he is. But not for himself. Not truly. He regrets having to have his mother tell people of her drop out of a son. He regrets looking at his friends, who are successfully going to college like it’s as easy as everything else had ever been for them. He regrets failing those last courses his final semester. He regrets letting go, letting himself and every bit of determination through the cracks of his fingers.

But he doesn’t regret leaving. Not then.

He had always been one to rush things and maybe he had rushed college, had gone too soon, had pressed too hard too quickly.

He doesn’t regret dropping out, as insane as it sounds. Yes, he wants more in his life and he’ll probably one day return to the structured schedules of the institution, but at that time in his life? It had felt unbearable.

Losing all your edges, all the definition of your being, did that.

When everyone around you seemed to have it together while all you had was bags under your eyes and tension headaches with messy scribbled sheets, you began to feel like a loser. Keith knows not everyone has the answers sometimes and that probably a third of those kids had been like him, tired and confused and lost, but he seemed to be the only one to live and breathe that.

He seemed to be the only one that let it take over.

Being in this car is familiar though, if a bit melancholy. He’s started over what feels like a hundred times. Before it had been with his mother and a box of their things ever present in the trunk. Back then it had been rained with sadness and grief, his tears got and knuckles bloody with all the words he could never seem to be able to scream out. And then it had been college.

That one had been painted yellow at the time, tinged with grins and rosy cheeks and well wishes. He had felt pride at that one. Getting in the car and driving off hadn’t felt like running away for once and it was the sole memory he had of that feeling. The only time he ever felt like he was going the same way as everyone else and look how well that had turned out for him.

Right into his next restart. When he had picked his bags up and dropped out, easing the car into the interstate back home to his mom and friends, it had been with nothing but disappointment and failure. There was nothing or no one to blame for that one. There was no grief or excitement to be found there. Nothing but bitter self loathing and tightly pressed lips that refused to give any explanations up.

Even his mom didn’t know the whole truth for his departure and he feels unsettled with the lies. But he feels even more sickened by the truth.

This time is different though. He isn’t running away from fear or failure and he’s not chasing some grand accomplishment. All he is now is unsettled and lost and maybe he’s always been a bit lost, in a way. Maybe that’s what the problem has been all along even. Either way, he’s got his finger on the power button and he’s jump starting it all back up for what feels like the fifteenth time.

He can’t bring himself to regret it though and just like all the other times, there’s still just a hint of wonder left to push him forward. Wonder and uncertainty and assurance that this is what’s best.

As the car eases to a speed that’s too slow for their current route, he presses on the gas again. The engine revs, coming to life with a loud roar beneathe him, and he grins easily. He didn’t have school or anything concrete at all, but he had this.

He had a plan. A crazy, complete irrational one, but a plan nonetheless.

For once, it’s easy to ignore the soft buzz of his phone against the cup holder and he tilts his chin out the window, letting the cool brush of wind fill him now instead of the dread that’s been clutching at his seams all day.

  
  
  


When he was younger, he had a dream. It wasn’t a particularly unique or special dream. In fact, it was quite unspectacular. He doesn’t remember the little things about it, like names or faces or smells. He barely remembers colors. But Keith does remember that when he was younger, back when he was scared of dogs and hated sleeping alone, he had a dream that he got lost.

He had been riding his bike, the wheels wobbling with each pump of his legs. The bike had been real, he fondly recalls. It had been red and plastered with half whole stickers along it’s lines, covering the brand name. He had rode that bike for hours in his dream, the wheels kicking up sand and struggling to trudge through it, slipping and sliding but going nonetheless.

But when he had stopped going, when his chest was pumping up and down and his lungs had ached with effort and exertion, he hadn’t known where he was. Keith wasn’t used to not knowing where he was. He had known every inch of that desert, it had felt. He remembers all the markings, the tall cactus north of his home and the arch of some rocks about 20 miles east. He and his dad went hiking often in the area, seeming to always go out in the mornings, returning back sweaty and with the wide hats drooping. To not known where he was, and to be alone, had been terrifying.

He hadn’t found his way home in the dream, had just gone around in circles, eventually abandoning his bike and falling to his knees, the sand impossibly chilled to the touch. He had woken up in a sweat, skin damp and hair a mess. His dad had been sitting by his bedside, eyes wide and worried and impossibly fragile. As if Keith had been the one to scare him.

He feels like that now. Lost. He has his GPS and a map in the passenger side seat so it’s not a reality for him this time at least. The roadsides he’s been passing make sense and his phone pings with reminders of every time change as he passes silently through the minutes but it still feels like he’s going in circles, mindless and confused and utterly unknown to anything. His head is full, sluggish and slow and not understanding the words and bright orange lights that blind his eyes, shoving their way into his head to build little homes.

There’s something about the stretch of gray before him that has him blinking slow. He keeps looking around, as if he’s stuck underwater. He clenches his fists, squeezing his palms around the steering wheel, and he breathes through his nose. Once. Twice.

He’s never been this far from home before. From his mother.

When he was younger, when his mom had been overseas, working for a government that would mercilessly and mindlessly send her into hell and leave with no hope of return, when she had been nothing but a name, a number, he had felt like this, he thinks. Those years are far in the past, dusty with age. He had his father back then, back when everything was simple, back before the accident, and he hadn’t felt quite as alone then as he did now but he does remember that ache. That bit of resentment he had felt for her, for leaving him behind, for choosing an invisible man and a tasteless flag over him. He wonders if she feels a bit of that now towards him.

No. No his mother had always been less selfish than him. She would never be angry at him for choosing this. For choosing something for himself.

The radio is silent for once. For the first time since he’s gotten on the road he has the volume all the way down, the dial turned as far back left as it can possibly go. He doesn’t want any company, not now. Ever since he had left the hotel that afternoon, body loose and heavy from his recent wake from sleep, he had been plagued with this sense of wrongness.

Part of him says to turn back now. Turn back while you can, it says. It looks at the remaining hours left on the clock, the hours that scream adventure and uncertainty, and says it’s too much. Says he isn’t ready. But when he looks away, when he thinks about his mom and his friends and everything before, college and high school and the mindless job he’s at, he thinks he’ll never be ready. Might as well go while he’s got a head start.

So he presses the gas a little harder, hears the engine purr and surge in agreement (or protest, he can’t always tell) and hopes for the best.

His phone rests in the cup holder, off and unanswered. He’s not ready for a lot of things it seems.

  
  


He’s used to road trips.

When his world first upturned, when his father died and he lost his only real connection to anybody or anything, he had been alone. At least, until his mom came.

When his dad died, his mom had come back from her tour a widow and with her kid waiting for her in a foster home. She had taken his shaking hand and his cold cheeks and guided him into their car. They would seem to always stay in that car, his mother driving them all over the country. They were lost, the two of them. Without his father, her husband, they didn’t know who they were anymore. Where they belonged. And for the better part of his childhood, Keith would be away. Always going, but never staying.

They went a lot of places, places Keith’s future classmates would ooh and aww at. Places that he had blinked at and described with a wide, drawn out drawl. He had visited the ocean, had taken steps up mountains, and sailed in the air. He had waved at the heavens and the sun, had trekked through redwood forests, and greeted Alaskan snow with cold cheeks. He had been lucky, he supposes, to have seen so much of the world, of this country that so few ever got to really see. 

But at the time, and even now sometimes, he had only felt restless. Both him and his mom had greedily sucked up anything the world had to show them, eager to move on and see more. Their gaze always feasting and always searching for more. He cherished it, really he did. There was nothing he had loved more than being able to see it all, to experience it. But he had also wanted a home. Had wanted to go to school, with the same kids and the ride the same bus every day. He had wanted the normalcy that even his dad hadn’t been able to really give him, as he had been homeschooled then too.

Despite all that time together though it never seemed to mean much. For a couple years, they had felt like strangers. She had been absent for so much of his early years that it was like living with a whole new person. But at least he knew her face, knew her voice from the pictures and old home videos his dad had of them all. That was more than he could say about anyone else.

She had retired for him, he knows. His mother had always been away, had been a soldier above anything else. He knew their pregnancy with him had been sudden, an accident, but he never doubted their love for him, not when his dad would tell him stories and carve out his grins with throaty laughs. Not when his mother dropped everything, her dreams and struggles and ambition, just to come back for him. He would always remember that, above a lot of things. The misplaced guilt he held for it would wait in the back of his mind, soothed by the fondness she held for him and the pride she held for herself at the work she did now.

He knows both of their lives turned out different than either imagined but he likes to think they’ve accepted it and made their peace.

Or, well, are trying to, he thinks, staring ruefully out the window at the passing fields and lazy clouds. The sun beats with a stitch and a glare in the sky. Miles and miles away the both of them are.

They eventually settled in Las Vegas though. He was never sure what it was that made his mom feel settled there, as Keith had never felt rooted in the busy, bright town. It was too loud, too energetic, for him to be at ease but for his mom it had held something. Something that made her push on the breaks and buy a house on the far outskirts of town.

She still lived in that house, now with Kosmo and Romelle.

But he had been restless there, just like he had been restless everywhere else they visited. Just like he was now. Maybe he never stopped feeling that way, he realizes. Maybe he had just gotten good at ignoring it, had gotten so used to feeling that way that it numbed itself and became an afterthought.

The urge to go, to run and hide and disappear, to keep moving and searching, had always been within him, he thinks. He has always been like this and he fears, perhaps irrationally, that he always will be.

He checks the GPS again and sighs. There’s so many more hours to go through before he even reaches the state and he lets a little irritation bleed through. He should have known better than to go the long, scenic route just because he felt sentimental.

  
  


_ I've missed your calls for months it seems _

_ Don't realize how mean I can be _

_ 'Cause I can sometimes treat the people _

_ That I love like jewelry _

_ 'Cause I can change my mind each day _

_ I didn't mean to try you on _

_ But I still know your birthday _

_ And your mother's favorite song _

Cigarette smoke is pushed out between his lips as he brings it down, tossing it to the ground where he crushes it with his shoe. He can feel his nerves relaxing as his anxiety ebbs away a little. It’s a terrible habit he knows, a terrible coping mechanism even, but it works and does its job. He’s sure a therapist would call him self destructive but that’s nothing new to him. He trades one poison for another. At least this one doesn’t give him scars.

Halsey sings to him personally through his opened window on the side of some deserted road. He’s driven a couple of more hours so far, about six, getting closer and closer to New Hampshire, and stopped here for no other reason than it felt nice out and he felt like it. He hasn’t seen another car for quite a number of miles and so he feels safe enough standing where he is, cigarette pack propped open and lighter warming his hand.

Angry gray clouds hover above him, painting the world in harsh edges and deep contrasts. If he were a photographer or a painter, he thinks he’d try to capture this moment exactly. The calm before the storm.

And it is calm, despite the somewhat rough winds blowing the tall grass around him. He hasn’t seen any lightning r heard any thunder yet so it’s not that close but he knows it’ll be here any moment now, can feel it’s heaviness in his bones, the ferocity of a storm settling itself in his lungs.

He’s always liked the rain. When he was younger, his dad would tell him stories as desert rains hailed around them like vengeful gods on the prowl. It should have been scary maybe, but he’s always been a child of fire. Has always liked that tinge of fear, has always relished in it. Even as he got older, and the stories disappeared with the memory of his dad’s deep, hoarse voice, he continued to like them. He remembers watching the rain pelt and roll down the windows, be it the car’s or whatever room they were staying in. He remembers his mom carding her hand through his hair as they watch it rain together. For him, rain has always been the calmest moments of his life. It’s the only time he really feels his heart settle, his mind quiet as all the troubles drift away, just for then.

Thunder claps finally and he lights another cigarette while the wind whips his bangs around. A sweet smell reaches his nose and he takes a long drag of that instead. He bites his lip before sliding it between them, inhaling the vague taste of black coffee like smoke. It’s a taste he can’t really describe, one that fits itself in all the empty spaces in his mouth and coats itself there, lingering. His shoulders slump as he releases it.

He presses the button on his phone again to replay the voicemail that initially made him get out of the car. His mother’s voice fills the silence around him and when he closes his eyes, ozone around him, he can almost feel her next to him, they’re so close.

_ “Keith.”   _ His mom rasps into the phone, the scratchy, coarse edge of her voice wrapping around him. He breathes the storm in again. 

_ “I don’t know what’s wrong right now but I’m sure you’re scared. Maybe angry. Probably sad. You’ve always been too much like me, always wanting to run and not ready to talk about the things that you can’t explain. And that’s okay. You don’t need to explain to me because I understand. I understand why you had to go, even if I don’t know the exact reasons why.”  _ He doesn’t deserve her. He wants to cry and scream and hug her all the same. She takes a deep sigh, like she has to bring herself together again. Maybe she does. Despite how tough she is, he knows she hates it when they’re apart.

_ “Don’t worry about your friends, I’ll take care of them. Just do what you gotta do, kid. I’ll be here when you’re ready.” _

The voicemail ends there, his phone clicking as it goes back to the beginning again and waits for him to press play. He doesn’t.

Instead he clicks the screen close, clouding it in black that he quickly lights up again. Sure enough, Ezor’s name continues to stare at him, text blank like he’s made them but bolded name there nonetheless. He clicks the side again and watches it disappear. Out of sight but not out of mind.

Lightning cracks across the sky in vibrant purples and he let’s the cigarette go, watching in fall to the ground with a hiss and stream of smoke. His slowly moves his shoe over it and smothers it, putting it out. A few drops of rain begin to fall from the sky and as he finally climbs back into his car, it begins to pour. He can barely see around him when he peers through the window and he leans back into his seat, the music continuing around him, as he watches the storm settle in. He listens to it beat against the glass, hammering away with no knowledge of what it’s actually fighting, so miniscule as they are, and he dips his head back even further into the headrest and closes his eyes.

He’ll wait just a bit longer.

  
  


The rain seems to follow him as it continues on throughout the day, no matter how far he drives away. He’s driven from Nevada to Texas by now and he’s made the executive decision to go to New Orleans while he’s down here. He’s about two hours out from the city still though and he plans ahead this time and when he stops for gas, he calls ahead for a reservation at the cheapest hotel he can find.

He’s in a drive thru right now, impatiently waiting for the asshole in front of him to stop hounding the cashier over some kind of coupon that applies to one thing on his 15 items long order. He knows. He counted when she had read his order back to him. 

While the guy continues to yell about his fifty cents, Keith pulls out his phone. He had switched it back on about two hours ago, when he had gone to the gas station.

There’s the ignored texts from his friends and the voicemail from his mom as well as the only active conversation he has with Allura right now. He idly flips through his apps, eyes pointedly refusing to acknowledge the text app and its little red circle with the number 34 glaring judgmentally at him. 

The radio echoes softly in the background, volume low as it spits out lyrics he doesn’t recognize.

_ We're so young _

_ But we're on the road to ruin _

_ We play dumb _

_ But we know exactly what we're doing _

Looking up briefly to check that the line hasn’t moved yet (and it hasn’t), he hovers his thumb over the message app.

A large part of him wants to call them. Any of them. He’s over a day drive away from home, a good distance from anything he’s ever known, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s scared. Hell yeah he’s scared. This is the farthest he’s been away from anyone ever, excluding the years his mom was overseas. And he really doesn’t think those are good comparisons for what’s going on here.

The point is, is that he has no idea where he actually is, hasn’t talked to anyone save a “your total is . . .” and a “thanks have a good day/night”, and he can literally feel his skin itching and crawling with nerves.

He wants to call Hunk and complain about all the shitty drive thru food he’s been eating (despite how much he gluttonously loves it) and how he’s basically been surviving on cheap coffee and stale chips from a gas station. He wants to hear Lance rant about losing yet another video game to some random guy while he does the same, yelling and cursing about the assholes break checking him on the highway.

He wants to send pictures of every roadside attraction he passes to Romelle, along side smiling selfies of him next to a “Welcome to (insert state)!” sign. He really wants to call his mom and just hear her voice softly tell him she loves him, unashamed in her affection, as he cries about how lost and confused he is.

Because he is. God, is he so lost.

Thankfully, his phone has a GPS.

He looks up in time to see the car in front of him finally inch it’s way forward and he eagerly shifts his gears back into drive, waving off the misplaced apologies of the horribly young and clearly irritated cashier. She’s all of sixteen, eyes pointed and a little red, and he tries his hardest to be as little of a burden as possible, hoping to get out of her hair quickly. The kid’s just trying to get her $40 this week. Fuck assholes like the guy in front of him.

When he is given his bag of cheeseburgers and too large fries, not to mention the pure gift that is his large cold coke, he pulls out of the lot and parks in the next one over, which seems to be a grocery store. Or a party store. He’s not too sure as the only advertisements he sees for it contain nothing but balloons and giant red and blue numbers.

Shoving the wrapper aside and practically inhaling half of his burger, he pulls his phone back out from between the warm planes of his inner thighs. He hesitates for just another minute before pressing the call button.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Keith.” She breathes into the mic, soft and hoarse and sounding just as strong as always. He can almost feel her smile against his hair.

The tension he’s been holding all day slips away almost instantly. “Mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally hate this chapter so much but I've been through like ten whole edits at least and I'm just done with it and ready to move on lol. Sorry it took so long but I couldn't seem to get what I wanted to work out so . . . here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Champion by FOB

**III**

There was a time in Keith’s life that he felt like he couldn’t talk to his mother about anything.

He had been not much younger than he is now, maybe only a few years ago, when the only thing he felt when he looked at her was this intense fear. Not that she did anything to deserve that of course. No, Keith had always known his mother loved him but when he had realized that he wasn’t exactly who they all thought he was, that’s when he began to fear that his mother only loved that image, that lie that he had been. He had heard the horror stories from other people like him and despite the measured protests in his head that she was not like that, not like them, it still ate at him, insistent in it’s conviction that it was right. That of course he would have the bad egg, as he always had.

It was tough back then. For both of them. And he tries his best to make up for it, even when she never asked him to.

But now it’s not like that. They’ve gone through so much together, have fought and battered through terrible times, like the accident and everything with his dad, and they made it. They made it.

He tries to remind himself that a lot. That no matter how bad, how low things got, they got through it. And if he could make it through then, he can continue to do so now.

That mantra only lasts for so long though, can only provide him with just enough comfort, before it falters and when her voice fills his ears again, like a lost, remembered note of an old song, he can’t help the flood of immediate relief he gets.

Because he may be lost and a little broken right now, but she’s still here. Has always been here. And if he can count on that, then what is there to be so afraid of?

“Mom.” He repeats, like a broken record, and if his voice wavers just a bit more than is normal, she doesn’t mention it.

“Keith.” She greets back, warm and tight like the kind of hugs she gives. Like his name and his presence is something to be treasured and caressed like precious glass. Her greatest treasure, she would always call him, and it’s when her voice is like this that he feels it. “I’m so glad you called.”   
He laughs, the sound coming out wet and hoarse and he knows he’s going to cry, can feel the sobs sticking in his throat right now, can feel the hot pinpricks of tears just waiting to fall, but he tries to push it back for now. “How could I not?” He asks her and it’s true.

How could he not call the one person that’s always understood him? Has always tried to? How could he not call her?

She gives him a minute, just waiting on the other side of the line. He can almost see the soft, somewhat tired smile she has to have on. Eyes dropped and gentle, as if she’s both sad for him or them or both but impossibly proud, despite it all. She’s always seemed to have looked at him like that, for so long now, and he begins to think he looks at her the same.

The weight of guilt is heavy, he knows. And they’re both so ashamed for it.

“Tell me what you need.” She says after a moment and he does.

“I don’t know.” he confesses. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

She tuts. “Let me tell you what I know. That feeling? That feeling never really goes away.

“I feel it now. I feel lost and a bit alone all the time. It’s hard not to. But you’ll find it, Keith.”

“What? What will I find?”

“You’ll see.” She smiles. “Your way home, wherever that may be. I searched for so long. I thought it was your father, before the fire. He was so handsome, so kind, and I fell for him so hard. But things didn’t stay safe, didn’t end like we all hoped. And I was angry. For a long time. Sometimes, I still am.”   
“Me too.” He mouths and he doesn’t know if he actually said it aloud or not but he feels like she hears the words anyway, like it’s imprinted on their souls, on his face.

“We kept going after that, remember?” He does. “Kept driving and driving and driving. And then we stopped.”   
And then they stopped.

“You’ll stop too. You’ll see. Sometimes, we spend our whole lives searching for our little corner of the world. Sometimes we find it and lose it and have to find it again. But we always find something, Keith. Even if it’s not what we thought we needed.”   
He thinks about the roadtrips and how they always seemed to be in a hurry. His mom had always had this haggard, world wary look on her face. Eyes tired and dark, mouth set in a perpetual frown. He had forgotten how she smiled, he remembers, that when she ever did it, it had left him gasping, blinking in confusion and hope and dread to see it go.

She always looked like she had seen everything. No matter where they went, she never truly got excited. She’d ooh and ahh like the rest of them but there was never that spark of awe on her face, never a stroke against the earth.

She never took any pictures and he had always thought it odd but now, here he is, and he realizes he hasn’t either.

Not until they got to Vegas anyway.   
“How did you know when to stop? Why there?” Why Dad, he says. Why Vegas?

He had never understood.

“I guess I fell in love with the idea of chaos and running so much that the one place that made sense was the one everyone seemed so desperate to run to.” He understood that in a way. “I found family there too, in Laurie and Kolivan and so many of the others. It was the one place I stopped feeling so lonely, so unsettled.”

Keith had never liked living in Vegas. For him, it had been too bright, too loud. Too full of emotion and colors and sensations. It was like the city lived and constantly breathed out a 24 hour energy drink. It just never seemed to stop, never seemed to quiet down. And everywhere you went you saw them. The tourists with their oddly placed clothes and plastic grins. The gamblers with the terrible shave and musty scent of fast food grease. The alcoholics with droopy eyes and bitter dismissals. The newly weds with their loud laughs and empty promises, always looking like they already regretted it. The dancers and waitresses in clothes that barely covered anything, ignoring any hungry look sent their way.   
He remembers the girls the most. Had seen them the most as they stumbled into diners, taking off their tall shoes and ordering tiny meals. They had the same tired look as his mom, had the same cut throat look in their eyes too.

They had been the nicest.

When they first moved to Vegas, his mom had started a job as a waitress at a small local diner. It hadn’t been much, had been full of night shifts, but it was enough to pay their house bills while she waited to hear back from the nearby police department. He’d go to that diner every day after school ended and he’d sit at a booth for several hours, right through closing, just doing his homework and reading books, drawing in the margins of pretty much anything. A jukebox would play old rock songs his dad used to listen to almost every second he was there.

With the randow short chats from his mom and the one meal and one snack another waiter would bring him, he was left mostly alone. That is, until it was nearly midnight when the girls (and occasional boy) would waltz on it.

After seeing them for a month, a constant loop of pretty much the same people, he learned their names and them his’s. He also learned their orders and favorite songs.

His favorite dancers had been Anna, Cori, and Lauri.

Anna had worked for a bar not even a street over, where she danced until morning. Rarely did she come in in her outfits but he did know she had a fondness for brightly colored pumps and dark lipsticks. She had been the best at math and whenever he had needed any help, he would save it for the times he knew she usually came in at.

Marching in in his too tight jeans and low cut shirts, Cori was one of the few boys that he knew to work as a stripper, though when Keith got older he strongly suspected the man to be a prostitute as well. But Cori had been single handedly the funniest person Keith had ever met as well. The man wasn’t the best with homework but whenever he had wanted an extra snack or just a break from all the mindless brain activity, Cori was the one to give it. He had probably bought him more milkshakes than Krolia and there wasn’t a cat Keith loved anymore that Cori’s orange tabby Squirrel, who he saw many pictures of over the months.

Lauri was easily the quietest of the bunch but arguably the loudest. She worked at a hotel casino and always came through in her uniform, which consisted of a tight black leather corset paired with a short black skirt and really tall black boots. She always made heads turn, though she seemed immune to the stares she got as she would ignore all of them to sit right next to him, where she would then share a single plate of fries with him. They’d eat those fries and later a milkshake if he was lucky while he drew and lent her one of his books to read. He’d never admit it but he had always brought and marked the books she liked best so he’d always have them for her.

Those three, and later Kolivan and Antok, would be the people Keith would call family and his only true happiness in Vegas. It was them that he enjoyed talking to, them that he went to, even when his mom finally got the job at the police department. He’d continue to go to the diner, albeit for less time, and sit and eat with them.

Las Vegas hadn’t been that terrible after all, he thinks.

“I liked the energy of the city, liked that it too never stopped. Never strayed on anything for too long. Vegas kept me going, kept me busy. There was never any time to think on the past or to get lost in it. Just you and my job and that kept my hands constantly full. By the time I did slow down, we had finally gotten the house finished. I finally got hired and we had Kosmo and it just seemed right. I knew I needed to keep moving and Vegas taught me that I could do that in one place. That home can change and shift and still mean something. I didn’t need to run anymore after that.”

And he gets it. For all that they’re alike, they’re so different too. Keith had always liked his solitude, had enjoyed the quiet moments outdoors and the gentle hours of peace they had when it was just them. He had loved the days they went camping and just relaxed the most out of all their adventures.

Keith had always been on the go but had longed to just stop but Krolia hadn’t been like that.

It was her that kept moving, that kept finding new places and things for them to see. She had always had their bags packed and ready to go before he even knew they were leaving again. And it had all been so exciting but so exhausting to.

Vegas had made sense for her, for someone that just wanted to keep moving and moving and doing. They lived on the outskirts of town, away from everyone and everything, where she could tuck away when things were over and at rest, their safe bubble from the world. But close enough to just jump right back in.

She was never one to stop though.

Keith liked to admire the flowers. Krolia wanted to grow more and them move onto another garden where she could see even more, different flowers.

“I don’t know what you’re looking for right now, kiddo. Maybe you don’t either. But trust me that when you find it, you’ll know. Home always feels right and you’ve always trusted those instincts of yours. It’ll be okay.”

_ It’ll be okay. _

He hadn’t realized this whole time, the past few days he’s been driving and going and even the past few months of just utter bullshit and useless wandering, that those three words were something he really needed to hear.

He’s been feeling this for a long time, this restless, unsatisfied energy beneath his skin. Had felt it in college and after he moved back home. Had continued to feel it even when he got a job and moved in with his friends. He knows now that he’s just been kind of terrified of everything, of his future that holds so much smoke and so little concrete things for him to see and touch.

He has no idea what he’s doing, hasn’t for a while, but to hear that it’ll be okay, and from his mom, it makes his shoulders slump and he dips his head back, breathing out a sigh of relief as it hits the headrest.

He closes his eyes. “I love you, mom.”  _ So much. _

She smiles. “I love you too, Keith.”

  
  


They talk for a little longer after that, mostly just Krolia telling him about Kolivan’s latest antics (and his intense belief that they should go out and find Keith Right Now) and how his friends are doing with the random insert of something Keith has seen while he’s out on the road. But it’s not that long that they finish the call and he’s pulling back onto the road.

He feels a bit more relaxed now that he’s actually talked to someone. As much as he hates to admit it, it is somewhat lonesome going across the country by yourself. There’s no one to annoy or joke with and he wonders if he’d have dragged Romelle or Lance and Hunk along this road trip. Probably all three, against his best judgement, and it’s bittersweet to keep going when he has the echo of their laughs in his ear. Every once in awhile he catches himself making a comment that would have pissed Lance off or had have Hunk up in arms about how terribly wrong he is and it’s a somber silence that greets him, lasting for several miles.

Fall Out Boy plays through the speakers, as he’s finally slid in an actual CD instead of just nodding along with the radio. He’s glad he spent the extra money on their Mania album though as Champion envelops his senses.

Road signs pass him by, the interstate packed full of cars all around him as he is greeted with the work rush. People are eager to go home and here he is amongst them all, desperately leaving his own. How ironic, he thinks, that no one else knows it. He wonders if any of them feel the same, are doing the same.

He wonders if there had ever been a time that he didn’t feel like this. The need to go, to run, to hide. To just disappear, be it to somewhere else or simply slip into nothingness.

But he’s made it through all of those times and he’ll do so again.

Before, he had taken it all by the horns, his mom and friends by his side. He remembers those long, quiet nights after his dad died. When he and his mom would just keep driving and when they did stop, they’d just sit, feet away from each other on opposite motel beds. He hadn’t been able to look at her, this woman near stranger back then. The tours had taken so much from their family but time had been the most precious loss and they had felt it’s ache so strongly back then.

Without his dad there, it had been a slap in the face how little they actually knew of the other.

The days went on though and eventually the stiff silence was filled, by empty words and thoughts at first until they became something more, stories of years ago and dreams Keith held in his head all night long. They healed together and somehow, found their way back to being a family.

He only wishes his dad had gotten to see his mom come home too.

When they had moved to Vegas and finally settled down, he had met Lance and Hunk, both of whom quickly became very important to him. Romelle followed shortly after, in her own sudden wave.

Years of home schooling hadn’t made the transition to public school any easier and he had met every struggle there with his fists, quickly making him an outcast that the other kids actively avoided. His name was spoken about in whispers between teachers and students alike and it felt like every other week his mom was getting a call to come down to the office. Half the time, he wasn’t even sure what happened, where it went wrong.

It wasn’t until he met Hunk that things quietened down.

Hunk was in the same grade as him, even in the same upper level classes. Classes everyone had honestly been shocked to see Keith both in and stay in. He hadn’t known much about the boy then, only that he was smart, stuck to himself, and was friendly, always armed with a bag of some kind of treats.

There had been a group project in his math class one day, one that was required to have partners, No Exceptions, and he had sunk low in his seat as everyone quickly paired off, not a single glance being thrown his way. He had been resigned to his fate, this teacher having locked eyes immediately with his. They both knew what was going to happen. After a minute everyone would be paired up and he’d be alone, the oddball out, and he would either have to be her partner (in title only, as he knew she wouldn’t actually split the work with him) or he’d be an unwelcomed third to someone’s pair.

It surprised both of them when neither was what happened.

Because just as he resigned himself for the inevitable, a large hand had poked his shoulder and he had turned his head to first meet the sight of an open ziploc bag of cookies and then the warm chocolate eyes of Hunk.

The boy had shrugged self consciously, digging the heel of his foot into the badly tiled floors, and had asked “Wanna be partners?” And the rest, they say, is history.

The math project itself hadn’t been such a spectacular event that had found a quick kinship between the two. No it had actually been pretty awkward if he’s being honest, filled with Hunk’s anxious ramblings about his family and friends to fill Keith’s stubborn silence. And when it was over Hunk had left his side just as swiftly as he had joined it.

But Keith remembered him anyway. Remembered how for every day of the project Hunk had shared his snacks with him, not once letting him say no. Remembered the way the boy had stiffened when they had to present their final project in front of the class and some of the other boys had laughed at his stutter. Remembered the soft gentle voice he had used when talking to him, not the cagey or hard edge to it others get when approaching the “feral kid”.

He remembered Hunk fondly enough that when he saw him getting picked on outside the cafeteria by a taller boy, he hadn’t even hesitated to punch the tall kid’s nose.

It got him a day in detention and a lecture by his mom but it got him a best friend too.

And where Hunk went, Lance followed. There was no way to hide that Hunk was now sitting with Keith and everyone seemed to notice it, often puzzled by it. But Lance hadn’t questioned it, merely shoved his way into the seat by them one day at lunch and immediately started teasing Keith for his hair.

Even Hunk had looked at him like he was crazy then, because who would pick on the one kid everyone knew would fight back?

And sure, they definitely started arguing but he never raised his fist. Never did again actually. Turns out, petty fights with Lance were good for him.

They stuck by his side after that and it really was history then because they still talked today, many years and fights later.

They had helped him find his feet time and time again. It had been them that really helped him after the accident, them that made him believe in his mom. No therapist had done nearly enough to make a dent with him and his life but Lance and Hunk had changed everything.

He was grateful to them and now it was his turn to prove their efforts weren’t in vain.

Because this time he was alone. His mom wasn’t here to brush his bangs back and Lance wasn’t here to cool the edge of his temper. Hunk wasn’t hear to gently coax him out of his self imposed shell. He was alone, miles and lifetimes away, and he was doing it.

He had something to prove. Everything to gain. And he was going to make them all proud if it’s the past thing he’ll ever do.

He just has to make himself proud first.

  
  


Hours later, he’s uncomfortably shifting in his seat. His knee is bouncing a little, ankle stiff from trying to remain still despite it. His chest lights up with a dull pain, the binder feeling tighter than usual.

He’s had it on for too long, he knows. His spine and ribs protest every second, licks of heat sparking up his skin every time he even thinks about moving. He tries his best to alleviate it, running a thumb under the binder’s edges every now and then. It soothes it for a second but that’s it.

He wants to take it off, which is a first, as usually he pushes through the pain anyway. But he’s older now, smarter, and he’s come to accept he has limits. Well, sometimes he’s like that. Now is one of them. And of course logic hits him at a time that he can’t take it off.

Because if he were home, it would be a simple fix. But he’s in a moving car right now, several people surrounding him, and the chances of the binder getting stuck around his shoulders is too high to even risk.

He grits his teeth and turns the volume up louder.

He will bare this too.

  
  


His chest still hurts but now there’s something stronger to replace it. He eases his foot on the break as time rolls, the cars around his slowing until they reach a halt. In the fair distance, ambulance lights flash and he hears the siren of a police car. With a sigh, he dials the volume up a hair and leans back in his seat. A heat that threatens to consume him, reaching and clawing its way up his throat, makes him want to gag. A familiar, unwelcomed ache follows it and he tries to push the feeling aside, to ignore it.

If only it were that easy. He’s learned by now that it almost never is.

When he was younger, those lights had meant something different to him. Something far more hearted and cheerier than most people. When he saw the bright lights flashing and heard the sound of the horn a mile away, his lips would stretch into an easy grin and he’d push at whoever’s face was next to his, eager to look and see.

That noise had once meant his dad was coming, that he was nearby. It had been a hello, a loud excited wave that Keith would greedily take up and return, his thin arms waving around in wide, uneven swoops.

Now whenever he heard the noise all he could think about is how it echoed in his ears as his lungs choked through smoke, trying and failing to make things easier, to get him to keep going, all while the house burned up into flames, forever taking his dad with it.

He digs the pointed edge of his thumb nail into the soft pad of his pointer finger and releases a breath through his teeth.

You’re not there he tells himself. And when it doesn’t work he thinks it again and again and again, until the words are all that matter. You say something enough times that it starts to get sluggish, but so do your thoughts as it gets dragged along.

And that’s enough. For now.

He surges forward all of a sudden and practically yanks the volume knob to the side, willing it to fill the car, to fill the silence, and to drown out the echo of the fire truck that has now joined the other cars.

Fall Out Boy rings out loud and clear and just on that hint of edgy that he needs, the same song from before still playing.

This is his life, he thinks. Constantly stuck on loop, going through the same old words and sounds and never really anything else.

Well. Today that changes.

He jabs his thumb to a button and the radio fills the car instead, aimless chatter that he doesn’t care for wedging itself into the brief space left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was more of a filler chap for that backstory tbh. It was going to be more than that but I couldn't get it to fit in right. Next chapter is when things pick up!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! Long time no see! Sorry about the wait, between now and the last time I updated there was a very sudden decision of me starting school for the second time (yikes, terrifying) and I quit my second job, then started a new second job, and then I quit that job last week exactly. So... with school now out and me back to just one job again (it feels veeerrry weird), I have more free time and hope to be able to work on my fics a lot more now!  
> I hope you guys like this one. It took me awhile because I went through like six different ways of doing it lol.
> 
> Chapter Song: Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift

**IV**

 

Two hours outside of Allura’s city, he wants to stop.

It’s near midnight and the radio buzzes with a slow song from a movie Keith and Lance had watched once. His stomach pangs every now and then with hunger, as he hasn’t stopped to actually eat in hours. Not since his phone call with his mom. His chest aches too, less so than before but still present nonetheless.

He’s got his binder laid flat across the expense of the passenger side seat. A loose hoodie is all that covers him now and he tries not to flinch any time someone in the car over looks at him for too long. They can’t even see you, his brain tells him, but his heart beats just a tad too fast to be mistaken for placated. Even he can’t lie in the face of it.

Darkness stretches out for miles, not a single street light ahead. He’s got the high beams on as he passes mass after mass of trees, trees that seemed to be wrapped all around him. Their branches stretch out above him and the bark is twisted, scratched over with shadow and drought. He can’t make it out but he knows the grass too is dead, the scorching heat of a too hot summer lingers in the air.

It’s hot now even, despite the slight chill the night brings with it. High in the 80’s without a cloud in sight, he remembers the dry seasons in the desert with his dad.

_Don't you dare look out your window, darling everything's on fire_

_The war outside our door keeps raging on_

_Hold onto this lullaby even when the music's gone, gone_

They had been alone out there, with just the two of them. They had no neighbors, none that they could actually see anyway, as no matter how hard he looked, he could never spot another human being. There was no one else out there, no one else’s feet tracking the desert. It was just them. Just the vultures that stalked the skies above them and the snakes that waited by the cluster of rocks not too far away.

They spent long, hot days out there, mapping the clusters of caves and barely there trails that were more like randomly placed rocks his dad would point at and call a marker than any actual paved path. Sweat would roll down his neck, clinging to his shirt collar and trailing a line down his forearms as they walked but still, a spark of adrenaline and excitement would light up his side whenever they found a coiled up rattlesnake or far off coyote.

The desert wasn’t a place for people like Lance and Hunk, who favored the open seas with it’s humid air and salty kisses. There was no water here, no kiss of life. Only death and heat.

But for people like Keith and his father, it was perfect.

Every morning, his dad would wake him up with a bowl of cereal or pancakes and eggs if he was lucky. Those days were rare though, the days he would turn on the radio to sing along with Billie Holiday as he flipped flapjacks and danced around the kitchen, Keith spinning and falling on his feet as he laughed with fire in his eyes. His little feet could barely keep up and stumbled often, his dad’s giant hands always there to steady him with a sweaty grin.

He misses those mornings.

After breakfast, they would go outside, where they would start their laundry, hanging it on pins upon a clothesline. Well, he would shove the clothes in water and soap. His father would hang them, the clothesline much too high for his short legs to reach. His shirt would always be soaked by the time they finished and inevitably his dad would make him run in and change while he hanged the old one up.

It was after the laundry that they got to his favorite part though for as soon as the last article of clothes was hung, he would drag his father back inside, where they would fetch their bags and pull on their loose jackets to go hiking.

They would be out there for hours, his father’s hand engulfing his own smaller one as he guided him through thin, tiny streams and overtop large boulders and up shaky hills and hard cliffs, into caves that his father knew better than anyone. The desert sun would beat stars into their skin and whisper songs in their ears, chins tilted up to listen. His father’s rich voice would fill the spaces in between, a soft, low timber that warmed his bones like whiskey. All the while the man would tell him stories.

Stories of his family, long gone. Stories of his mom.

Back then, those stories had felt like the only thing he had of her. Krolia had been away for so much, so long, overseas fighting a war Keith didn’t even understand (would never understand), that her face was one he knew better from photographs than actual memory. When she did get to come back home, it always felt so hectic, so rushed. Like they were trying to cram every moment in before she was gone, before they ran out of time. And they always ran out of minutes.

She had never been a ghost, never been an actual stranger to him, but she had felt more like a dream than a mother at the time.

So he savored every word his father held of her, every story he told. As they walked through the desert and his father taught him how to climb rocks, he would speak of the woman he met all those years ago. A woman that he fell in love with so easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.  
She had been his fallen star, his dad would always say. The one shooting star that he got, the one wish he made that even the sky couldn’t hold from him. His mother was, and would always be, otherworldly.

She had been his everything. He could hear it in every word his dad had said. And he would cling to those stories for as long as he could, always asking for another. For it was only in the wide expanse of the desert that his father would utter her name. Out there, they were safe to share that secret. Her secret.

Her.

When they would return to the house, covered in gritty sand and scuffs of dirt, sweat gleaming upon their skin, he would be pushed into the shower. And later his father would make dinner, which almost always consisted of some kind of soup or stew. They would hardly say a word, but for them that was enough.

The wilderness held their voices after all. Inside, they had no use for them.

It felt like they never left that desert, despite the fact that his dad worked in the county over as a firefighter and that he himself would leave every Monday for martial arts lessons. They seemed to stay in it for so long, like ghosts trapped there forever, haunting and stalking the land. But he had loved every second of it there, had loved living out there, far away from the world and the people in it.

He had been safe there. They had all been.

But Keith was no longer there, despite how he’d always be a desert child at heart. Vegas was close to it, as close as they ever came to going back, but it was so different than the life before, that it was somehow even more jarring to be there than say San Francisco with it’s windy streets.

He wasn’t there now though either, he reminds himself. As some random man’s voice echoes around him, replacing the song previous on there, music fading, as he answers random phone calls, offering his own advice, he looks onward.The road stretches on, bleak and empty with no one around. The Welcome to Connecticut sign cuts a boringly ordinary picture as he speeds pass it, hoping to whatever higher being there is that no police car is waiting around the corner for him.

He’s seen many of these signs, always passing them by without even thinking about it. He’s seen the whole of this country, has lived and left more places than most have even considered looking at, and his hands and feet are calloused with the experiences. So many times has he started over; in a new town, at a new school, with new friends. He feels like he’s always pressing that reset button, just over and over like his hand is permanently stuck on the key and he’s doomed to repeat his mother’s grief filled adventures.

And perhaps that’s a part of it too. He’s chasing his own ghosts still after all and his heart aches with the emptiness of it. Eyeing the lone duffel bag he’s brought along, the ache intensifies.

This is his life. All in this tiny, old car.

A pang of pain along his chest has him rubbing at the skin there, palm flattening against the soft hoodie and sliding over it in a mocking imitation of what Hunk does when he knows Keith has been wearing the binder for too long. There’s nothing to be done about it but breathe deeply a few times, letting his lungs expand as they collect as much stale oxygen as he can. He can’t do any stretches here and while he’s sure nothing is broken that doesn’t stop his body from hating him for adding irritated, reddened skin to it’s mix of problems.

One cannot say that Keith ever makes it easy for himself.

The guy on the radio’s voice catches his attention as it fills the car. He’s got a soft voice, one that has remained levelled and soothing the whole entire time he’s been speaking, regardless of how many calls come in, and if he weren’t driving right now, Keith suspects he could easily fall asleep to the soft timber. As it is, his only real choice is to listen.

“-just feel like I gave him everything you know? I don’t understand what I did wrong.” The current caller continues, mid sentence as he pays attention. Her voice is shaky and he can tell just by the second splice, that she’s been crying. The guy gives a hum, the noise vibrating comfortingly in his throat.

Oddly, it reminds Keith of the thick thumping of his mother’s dryer.

“You loved him, Sarah?” The guy asks and she responds positively in turn. “And he loved you?”  
This answer takes longer to come, a pause beating it’s way in between words. “I like to think he did.”   
The guy hums again and he likes to imagine that he’s stroking his chin, much like his Uncle Thace does when he’s thinking. “Sometimes we fall in love with the wrong people, Sarah. It’s not our fault, it’s not even theirs, it just happens.”

Keith knows all too well about falling for the wrong people and as the man goes on, filling Sarah’s head and heart with soft, gentle words of encouragement and healing, he thinks of before.

There’s a lot he’s running away from and though he knows his mother would yell at him for calling this that, it’s the truth and he knows it.

He’s always been a runner and he supposes he always will.

  


It’s in the soft hours of the morning that he makes that final turn into Allura’s town, car driving slowly down a mostly empty stretch of road. It’s quiet out, still too early for most anyone to be awake. Streetlights bathe the granite orange, little licks of light casting shadows upon the front windshield. Closed signs hang from dusty windows.

He eyes the GPS, checking to make sure he’s following the correct path to her apartment, and gives a weary sigh. His bones feel tired, he feels tired, and all he wants right now is to close his eyes and drift away.

But those are dangerous thoughts and so he cranks the volume up, repressing a groan as another pop song fills his ears, one even Lance’s massive Spotify playlist didn’t make him recognize.

He keeps inching his way down the quiet street, eyes tracing over the lightly colored buildings and the sharp blue paint that seems randomly splattered in places. Unlike his home, there’s no street art, no blasting of loud music, and no clash of bright lights against dark shadows. It’s just the cool backdrop of a sea town.

There’s a few people out and about, casually strolling down the paved sidewalks. He spots a corgi and has to repress a coo, a pang of longing hits him, thinking of Kosmo and how much he misses him.

When he spots a lone coffee shop with its lights on, a cheery yellow paint waving at him, he casts another glance at his GPS. Allura’s apartment is only a couple of minutes from here and with it being only 6:30 in the morning, it’s not like he can go over right this very second. His stomach chooses that moment to protest once more and he decides to park after all.

After a terrifying experience with parallel parking, he shifts through his wallet. In the rush of the past month with his sudden plans making themselves known, he hadn’t had a lot of time to save up. Nonetheless, he’s got enough to spare on some breakfast.

The coffee shop immediately strikes a chord with him, with it’s warm red doors opening smoothly, a soft chime of a bell announcing his arrival. There’s a line when he enters but he doesn’t mind, taking the time to observe everything.

There’s few people inside, a group of university students sitting on one of the benches by the door. There’s several small tables around the place, all with wooden benches for seats and smooth, dark wooden tables. The walls are a cream color, with black and white photos hanging all over. There’s a rustic feel to it, and, with a bit of a scowl, a hipster like air to it. Despite that though, he doesn’t spot anyone that looks outrageously pretentious. Only tired students and an elderly couple in the corner.

Behind the counter, which has glass covered sweets on it, is the menu, which is written on a chalkboard with white chalk in a mix of thin cursive script and giant, airy bubble letters. Little colored flowers are doodled in the corner, the sun greeting him in the opposite one. Two employees are back there, one manning the register and taking orders, the other brewing and checking on whatever is baking in the kitchen behind them.

When it’s his turn to order, he gets the largest mocha he can and a single, plain bagel. After handing over the seven dollars, he doesn’t have to wait long for it to be given to him, and with a happy sigh, he heads back outside, where a few tables have been placed.

The morning air is a little chillier than what he’s used to but with the sun out, the temperature is slowly inching its way up. The metal chair scrapes as he pulls it out and taking a seat he idly turns his cup around.

The name “keItH” is written on the side of the white cup, brown sleeve coving up the bottom of the K. A happy trill echoes through him at the sight of it. Even now, years after he’s picked the name and started using it, seeing it so casually is still exciting. As he takes his first sip, the sweetened edge of bitterness immediately burning his tongue a little, he closes his eyes in contentment.

It’s been a long time since he’s been to an actual coffee shop. Back home, the closest he’d get to it was at McDonald’s and even then the taste was never the same, not quite right. Back when he was in college, there had been this little cafe about ten minutes from his dorm, a short, easy walk away. They had the best lattes and hot chocolate, his favorite things to order when he was in the throws of studying for tests, and as odd as it sounds, he misses that feeling.

He sits at that table for a while, just enjoying the quiet sounds of the town waking up. Slowly, the air gets warmer, the birds get louder, and the sound of feet walking gets more frequent. His bagel gone and coffee cup long empty, people pass him by. Some in suits and tailored shirts, walking briskly to work, others in short running shorts, feet slapping against the concrete.

It’s one of these people that catches his attention, but not because he’s looking for it.

He’s looking down for once, phone in his hand as he contemplates who to text back first and what he should even begin to say. The screen keeps dimming and he has to tap it quickly with his thumb so he can torture himself with the sight of their unanswered texts.

He hears the labored pants of breath and the pit pat of feet and thinks nothing of it, as many people have been by him throughout the morning. It’s when he feels the hot press of a wet tongue against his knuckles that he jumps, head jerking up.

Licking contently at his fingers is a big, black shiba. She’s got a bright purple collar around her neck that has a silver disc dangling from it, proudly proclaiming her as Black and when he shifts his hand to open up, palm flat up, she gives it a wide swipe of her tongue too. Smiling, he sets his phone down and glides his free, dry hand through her fur, which shifts smoothly. It’s like silk as he pushes his fingers through it, the sun warming them both.

“Well where did you come from, huh?” He asks her, the smile not straying. She obviously doesn’t respond, just continues to pant happily, her tongue lolling out now that she’s pulled back a little. He moves both hands into her fur now, guiding them up to cup around her ears and give her head some scratches. She tilts into it, pressing herself closer, and he scratches a little harder, forgetting that he should probably be looking for her owner.

Fortunately, said owner does the work for him as a deep voice sounds from in front of them.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend.”

Keith looks up, eyes wide as he feels as if he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and immediately descends into heaven.

In front of him is easily the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. His shoulders are easily twice as wide as his own and Keith doesn’t feel like that’s an exaggeration at all. With prominent muscles covering what feels to be his whole body, he feels his mouth dry up just looking at him. He looks like you’re typical frat boy pledge, wearing black basketball shorts and a white tank that cuts low enough for him to see even more smooth, lean skin. A snapback sits atop his head backwards and a white tuft of hair peeks out through it, teasing him with a cheery, wide grin. The light brown eyes gazing back at him doesn’t help the picture and for a moment, Keith gets lost in them, forgetting to breathe or say anything as he just stares at the stranger.

Funny enough, the man just looks back at him and doesn’t say a thing back either. Nice to know this isn’t strange apparently. Right.

Keith clears his throat. The guy jumps at it and blinks a few time, seeming to clear his head before he jerks himself out of it. It’s then that he notices the leash in the guys hands. He bends down to crouch next to the dog, who’s been sitting by Keith’s feet this whole time, and clips it to her collar. She greets the man with kisses, licking his jawline and cheeks happily. The man laughs and doesn’t even nudge her off, just lets her have at it as he scratches the thick tuft of hair on her front.

“Sorry about her. Usually she doesn’t run off but I stopped for a drink and when I looked up she was gone. Guess she didn’t notice I had stopped.” The man gives a shrug, somehow looking guiltier than Keith himself feels and he gives him a soft smile, waving a hand in front of his face between them. Like this, with him sitting and Shiro crouched down low, they’re almost eye level. He hates to admit it, but a part of him burns hot when he realizes he still has tilt his chin up just a _bit_ to look him head on.

“Don’t worry about it, man. She wasn’t a bother.” The guy smiles at that and sticks out a hand, not seeming at all bothered that he’s still on his knees. Keith definitely isn’t going to remind him, no matter how selfish that makes him.

“I’m Shiro. This is Black.” The dog grins stupidly, seeming to know they’re talking about her as she turns back to look at him.

He thrusts his hand out to shake his hand. Shiro’s fingers curl pleasantly around his, his hand dwarfing Keith’s. “Keith.”  
He hopes his voice didn’t sound as high as it did in his head just then.

“You usually come here this early?” Shiro asks him, casting a look at the coffee shop behind them. “We take this route every morning and I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

He looks down at his shoes, giving a light shrug, before meeting his eyes again. “I just moved here. Today actually.”

Shiro immediately brightens, spine straightening as he gives Keith a toothy grin, eyes wide. “Really? You one of the new incoming students?”  
He feels an ache at that question. Shiro doesn’t mean anything by it of course, couldn’t have really, and yet, Keith hates it. He hates being reminded of what he doesn’t have anymore. Of what he gave up. He misses college, misses what it was like, misses the friends he made there, and there’s a part of him, a big part, that regrets the decision he made.

He doesn’t say anything like that to him though. Instead he just gives what he is sure is a flat, half hearted look. “No I’m not. I just decided to move here on a gamble to be honest. Haven’t even met my new roommate yet.”  
Shiro looks surprised by his answer but he doesn’t comment anything the like on it, to which he’s grateful. Scratching a hand through Black’s head of fur, he looks apologetic. “That must be weird for you then. Not knowing anyone.”

Like this, with Shiro and Black in front of him, Shiro still on his knees, no doubt aching by now, he doesn’t really feel alone. Yeah sure he’s in a big town and doesn’t know anyone, doesn’t really have anything to his name, but it’s exciting and sitting here with them, he feels like he remembers that drunken, spontaneous feeling that drove him to this in the first place. He let’s Shiro know as much with a shy, almost hidden smile that he tucks into his own shoulder as he turns his head to look at the street.

“Well I know you.” He turns his head back to him, eyes downcast but still somewhat meeting Shiro’s own. “You and Black that is.”

The grin Shiro gives him makes him feel a bit braver and he lifts his chin up just a hint more for it. “That you do, Keith. That you do.”

It’s then that the other man seems to realize he’s still on the ground, as his cheeks look a little pinker and he releases a loud, annoyed groan. Standing, his knees pop and Black yips, jumping up with her thighs on his paws, happy at the sudden movement. Shiro laughs and tousles his hair, running it self consciously through, making his hat shift as he does. Brilliant, white hair peeks through his fingers and Keith’s eyes light up at it.

Starlight, his father would say. That’s what Shiro is.

Giving Black’s leash a light tug, Shiro shifts his shoulders and gives Keith a cocky smirk, so at odds with the boyish look he had been seeing previously, and he feels his face heat up at it. He’s not sure for the reason, can’t bring himself to either care or ask, but he likes it all the same. It’s daring, reckless, and reminds him a bit of who he used to be before.

He likes the feeling. Had missed it. And he’s eager to keep feeling it so he stands with Shiro, only just now realizing how close they really are when he practically stands chest to chest with the man, only a hair of a breath between them.

Neither seems to mind and Black definitely doesn’t if the slobbery lick she gives his hand is any judge. Shiro’s smirk tugs itself into a more genuine smile at them, almost shy.

“We should really be going. Me and Black have a busy day today.” Shiro says, not taking his eyes off Keith and he in turn returns the gaze. It’s odd to think of. He’s never felt like this with anyone before, not even any of his ex’s, as few and far between as they are, and yet . . . .

“Okay.” He says and it comes out faint, like a whisper. Like a secret. He hopes no one else heard him sounding like a blushing school girl. That sentiment immediately flies out the window though when Shiro returns the tone just as soft.

“Bye Keith.” He takes a step back and steps around him.

He gives a wave, fingers curling. “Bye Shiro. Bye Black.”  
And as he watches the two of them run off, both at an even pace together, with Black’s tail happily bouncing along with her trots, he realizes he never got his number.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my baby and I'm very excited for it. I hope you guys love it as much as I do.


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